


Proper Attire Requested

by tepidspongebath



Series: Christmas Fics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Humor, and festive attire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tepidspongebath/pseuds/tepidspongebath
Summary: Mummy Holmes takes up knitting, Anthea averts a global crisis due to spangles, and Mycroft's brolly gets into the holiday spirit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Seasonal Fucking Cheer Ficathon prompt: _You should really take off that seasonal jumper and/or hat and/or pair of shoes._

“Something on your mind, agent?”

The woman sometimes known as Anthea bit her lip and Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her. She was undoubtedly one of his best people: cool, efficient, handy with a gun or any object that happened to be lying around during a fight, mind like a scalpel, and able to kill any attempts at flirtation with a single word, all while maintaining a significant social media presence on several different platforms by posting those cat videos John Watson liked so much. He had known her to bite her lip on only four other occasions, three of which had involved narrowly-averted global crises, and the fourth had involved her cat.

“No, sir.” Then she thought better of lying to her boss ( _Mycroft Holmes sees all_ ). “But if you want to change before the meeting, sir, I can arrange a ten-minute traffic jam.”

“It’s the jumper, isn’t it?”

“Not so much the jumper as the spangles, sir. I’m not sure how Lady Smallwood will feel about the spangles.”

“Given the date, she can hardly expect any less, though I owe her a debt of gratitude for coming up with a national emergency today.” Mycroft sighed. “My mother is a woman of many skills, agent. Unfortunately, this year those skills include knitting. She learned it last week, apparently, and was feeling inventive.” He allowed himself the smallest of smirks. “You should have seen what she made for my brother.”

“I’m sure, sir. That explains the hat too?”

“Yes, agent.”

“And the shoes, sir?” The twitch of her fingers on the steering wheel indicated that festive _socks_ were to be expected, but shoes were a different matter entirely.

“As I said, _inventive_.” Mycroft looked at his watch. “Make that a fifteen-minute traffic jam, please.”

“Yes, sir. An extra thirty seconds to get rid of the umbrella cozy?”

“No, I think that stays. It is Christmas, after all.”

 


End file.
